Excerpt: Kendra: An Autolieography

The spiders were not as keen on the idea of scaring my sisters. It was understandable, really, since their reaction would usually involve stomping. Still, they were always willing to chat. I will never forget the day I was having a discussion about the feasibility of stabilizing wormholes with a black widow when my mother found us. I was about seven, and my mother was horrified. The spider had been climbing about on my arm, looking for a comfortable place to settle while we talked when my mother slapped my arm, sending the spider sailing off into the grass with a tiny shout of surprise.

“What do you think you are doing?” My mother demanded, glaring down at me with her hands on her hips.

Now, I knew better than to tell her the truth. She would never believe it, and that would just get me into more trouble. So, I answered her as another child my age might. “I was looking at that spider, Mother. It was really neat! It had a red hourglass on it!”

“It is called a black widow,” my mother informed me, assuming I did not already know it, “and it is extremely poisonous.”

I could not help myself. “Well, I was not planning to eat it, Mother.”

Her face turned red and got all scrunched up with, I was forced to assume, the effort of not sending me off the way she had my eight legged friend. “Venomous, then,” she snarled, then took a deep breath and continued, “Extremely venomous. If it bites you, it will kill you.”

I sighed. “Mother,” I found myself explaining with amazing patience, “That spider is way smaller than any rattlesnake, and you told me if a rattlesnake bit me, I would be fine as long as I got to the hospital on time.”

“And who said,” my mother asked with gritted teeth, “that I would actually take you to the hospital?” Again, she took a deep breath before continuing, “The venom of a black widow spider is much more concentrated than a rattlesnake's venom, and therefore more powerful.”

“Even so,” I answered, “I am a hundred million times the size of that spider. How could it possibly be that much danger? It could not have that much venom in it.”

“I refuse to argue with you any further,” my mother exclaimed in that tone that made it quite obvious she meant it. “You will not touch those spiders again. Promise me!”

I sighed, rolled my eyes, and agreed. “Fine, Mother, I promise not to touch another black widow.”

“Any black widow,” she insisted, seeing for herself the loophole I was trying to leave.

“Fine. Any black widow,” I agreed, unwillingly, and she made me repeat my promise, “I promise not to touch any black widow.”

Turning, she went back in the house, muttering under her breath. I heard my eight legged friend trying to get my attention, so I squatted back down and reached out to pick up a small twig lying by my foot. The friendly black widow was already perched on the other end of it. “You heard?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she sighed. “We have such a terrible reputation! I mean, why would I bite the first human I have found who is actually intelligent enough to understand me? Silly woman!”

“My mother. She simply does not understand,” I answered, then grinned. “But now, I am not touching you, am I?”

My black widow friend laughed, and picked our conversation back up where we had been forced to leave off when my mother sent her sailing away.